


when i least expect it

by notsevensamu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Beach Volleyball, Canon Compliant, Getting Together, Japan men's national volleyball team, M/M, Timeskip, hinata is in brazil, hugs are nice, i love these two so much, inspired by that spread of Hinata on the beach in front of Dois Irmaos, part of that beach is a gay beach ok, there are a couple ocs bear with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:07:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23432134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsevensamu/pseuds/notsevensamu
Summary: Then he heard a voice, and froze. For a moment he stood still, wondering if he was imagining it, that voice, when it spoke again, this time pronouncing a name.“Hinata?”He peeled his palms from his eyelids and slowly lifted his head, his eyes somehow, impossibly, rising to meet a pair of terribly familiar blue eyes.“Kageyama?”--The national team has a match against Brazil.or.Hinata inadvertently stumbles into the more colorful side of life in Rio, and Kageyama is somehow there to help him understand.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 75
Kudos: 581





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely inspired by my experiences... realizing things. lol. Also, I feel like the Brazil arc is a goldmine of untapped potential and I wanted to explore the kinds of things Hinata might get up to while living there!
> 
> I have never been to Brazil so please forgive me my lack of knowledge--even though I spent way too long watching walking tours of Ipanema on YT 
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tomezeme) or [tumblr](https://tomezeme.tumblr.com/) :D
> 
> Enjoy ~

The first time Hinata finds himself talking about Kageyama, it’s because of Nice. 

He’s in the middle of a long afternoon of practice with Heitor, and Nice has dropped by before a long evening shift at the restaurant where she works. She had strolled through the sand towards her boyfriend, short jean shorts low on her hips and a white tank just above, with long silver earrings that clinked together and glinted in the sun. Her long blonde hair, with its remnants of a darker shade once dyed near the tips, was pulled high into a ponytail, revealing beads of sweat near the nape of her tanned neck as she stood on tiptoes to press a quick kiss to Heitor’s lips in greeting. She carried her shoes in one hand, and a bag was draped on the opposite shoulder.

“Mind if I stay for a bit? I need a little more sunshine before I’m stuck inside all night.” With this she swiveled on the balls of her feet to look at Shouyou, waving the hand that carried her shoes and giving him a quick wink. 

Of course, Hinata and Heitor both vocalized their happiness that she stay, and so she turned to walk beyond the lines of the beach volleyball court to sit on the sand where she could see both their spikes and the late afternoon sky painting itself across Guanabara Bay. 

It was a rather quiet weekday afternoon on Flamengo Beach. Pão de Açúcar reached up into the sky out on the peninsula, and the sounds of the gulls, the city behind her, and the familiar slap of a ball being hit across a net was comforting, and familiar. It made it easy to simply sit and watch. And for awhile, that is all she did, watching the boys and watching the way the sky performed it's daily interchange. At sunset, when the bright and forceful light of the day was quieted by the gentle blue and purple of night descending upon it. In the sea, this beginning of the dominion of the night over day was reflected, making the entire tableau one stunning gradient of color. It was impossible to tire of it, and Nice always detected a little echo of mourning within herself as she watched the sun slip behind the sea and the mountains, not to find purchase on the world until the morning, when it would triumphantly climb to the top of the sky and ignite the world again. 

Even Heitor seemed inclined to admire the setting sun, and he would hesitate just the slightest bit when picking up their ball on the other side of the net, or when he was waiting for Shouyou to toss to him. He would glance out over the bay for just a second, and it made Nice smile with contentment and warmth. Shouyou, on the other hand, was so focused on volleyball it would have been worrying, had Nice not known him as she did. She had come to expect his endless talk of the sport and his goals, and she had begun to admire the young man. He was endearing and kind, and she had begun to suspect that even if she hadn’t liked the sport, she would have been able to listen to him talk about it as long as he wished. 

“Shouyou!” She called, teasing, seeing if she could distract the boy from his intense concentration. “What are the sunsets like in Japan?!” 

“Wha—?!” Shouyou’s form flickered briefly as he was reaching up to spike one of Heitor’s tosses, and he quickly smacked the ball to the sand on the other side of the net before landing and wheeling to look at Nice, his orange hair wild and windswept. 

Nice laughed. “I just wondered, you know. Heitor and I love sunsets, I was thinking maybe it would be a good place to go on our honeymoon.”

Shouyou’s eyes grew round as Heitor’s cheeks burst into color behind him. Shouyou began to grapple for a response, “uhm, they're...—” 

Nice’s laughter continued to sound, amused at their reactions. “Did Ninja Shouyou take any high school girls on romantic walks in the mountains of Japan in the evening?” 

Now it was Shouyou’s turn to blush, his already tan skin darkening above his cheekbones. He looked at the top of the net above him, eyes going a little unfocused as he thought back to his time in high school.

“I mostly trained, in the evenings. But sometimes after games or training camps in the summer we would see the sunset.” His eyebrows pulled down a little, as if he was trying to remember a time he had devoted attention to the sinking sun. “It was, they were... nice,” he settled on, as he dipped his back beneath the net to grab the ball. 

“That sounds like you!” Heitor piped up, hands on his hips. “Man, your high school team had to have been pretty serious to train every night.” 

“No. Well yes, they were serious. But it was usually just me and..., me and one other player who stayed late.” With this, Shouyou’s mouth turned down just a fraction, a rare sight to see from someone Heitor and Nice had come to know as usually cheerful and smiling. 

Hinata had realized, over the course of his time in Rio, that, apart from Oikawa-san, he hadn’t spoken about Kageyama to any of his new friends. Even with Kageyama being relatively well-known with the Olympics and known among serious beach volleyball players, something always prevented him from speaking about the three years in high school that they’d shared. He had come here to build strength, and to become _better_. There were so many new experiences to have and people to play volleyball with, but for some reason, voicing his true motivation for wanting to become a professional player, while standing on a sandy beach all the way across the world, felt strange and uncomfortable, in a way that made him feel as if his time at Karasuno should be kept wrapped up inside of him. It was as if this one thing still made him as worried as he was about everything when he first arrived in Brazil… how could he talk about Kageyama when all this new and unfamiliar world was spread out in front of him? He had opted to dive headfirst into the new challenge of beach volleyball, rather than think about this dilemma, even if his desire to beat Kageyama lingered constantly in his mind. 

Right now, though, with Nice’s question hanging in the air, he couldn't help but think about Kageyama. The countless nights they’d spent practicing, their partially shared commutes home, when they would walk together, before Hinata would jump on his bike and head over the mountain towards his house. The mornings they’d spent racing to the club room as the sun rose behind them. All of that, suddenly, was at the front of Hinata’s mind, when it hadn't been for quite some time now. 

“One other player, hm?” Nice asked now, staring at Shouyou with curiosity. His pause and his frown had made her expression shift a little, her dark eyes looking across the sand to Hinata. A breeze was blowing, gently pulling at her ponytail, and the light was growing slightly dimmer as the sun descended below the horizon somewhere behind her. “He must’ve been pretty dedicated too, then. Do you miss him?” 

Nice knew how Heitor felt about volleyball, about how he tended to regard it simply as a job. And she also knew how Hinata was always running around trying to find someone to play with. It made sense that he must’ve had someone to practice nonstop with in Japan. Otherwise, she doubted he would be as good as he was.

The question made Hinata pause. Did he? Miss Kageyama? The first couple months he had been here, he had felt a terrible homesickness for all of his team, and his life in Japan. He had adjusted, eventually, and found life in Rio to be colorful and lively and wonderful, but still, a hole remained that had once been filled by his partner, his best friend. Someone who he had complete faith in, and he in him. It was true that he loved his life abroad, but…

Hinata felt as heat crept up his neck again, complicated feelings whirling within him. He pictured Kageyama in his mind—not their last conversation before Hinata had taken off across the world, which had its own undercurrent of expectation and anticipation, and which made Hinata’s chest feel heavy, but the moments when he used to watch Kageyama after or before a match: writing in his journal, tying his shoes, caring for the fingertips that as if through magic unfailingly sent balls right into the middle of Hinata’s palms, all with that unwavering, frowny expression that he always wore when focused on winning. Three years of being next to Kageyama, and now, if he let his mind wander too far, it would stray to that uneasy spot it had when he first arrived in Brazil. The edge of a troubling, wide void where Kageyama’s clear blue eyes and an unspoken promise called to him. 

He kicked one foot a little in the cool grains of sand beneath the surface. “I think—”

Heitor was suddenly behind him, hand slapping him across the back. The action served to dislodge Hinata from his thoughts. “Ya know, if you're ever feeling lonely, you can always come stay at our place, we'd be glad to have you for a day or two.” 

All at once, remembering that he was supposed to be having practice, simple, straightforward practice, with his friend, and feeling a little embarrassed about how quickly his mood had turned and the time he’d now spent lost in thought rather than playing, Hinata flashed a smile at Heitor to reassure him.

He’s still waving him off when Nice speaks again, as she stands and brushes some of the sand from her legs. “Well, it's only natural that you’d miss the people who helped you,” she says. 

Hinata looks to her, as she walks up to him and gives him a smile in return, in addition to ruffling his hair. “I have an idea. While of course you are welcome to stay with us every once in a while, I think maybe we could start with an afternoon out. This Friday, there’s some casual games going on on Ipanema, and Heitor and I were planning on hanging out there for a bit. Why don’t you join us? Have you ever been near Rua Farme de Amoedo?”

“Rua Farme—isn’t that Posto 8...” Nice looks at Heitor, and something passes between them. Heitor stops, shrugs, while Hinata tips his head in the beginning of a nod, already accepting the offer to play against new players.

“Yes! I’ll come! When do games start?” 

Nice laughs at the speed at which he was able to rebound from his abrupt change in demeanor, and tells him they were planning to be there around seven. 

With that, she tells both Heitor and Hinata that she has to get going for work. Heitor sheepishly tells Hinata that he too needs to get going. The sun has vanished from the sky, so seeing the ball would be difficult now anyway. Hinata acquiesces, for now, and with the promise of more volleyball two days from now. He has a day full of delivery-work and helping out with classes tomorrow, and then indoor practice Friday morning. He’s excited to have his afternoon full on Friday now, and so he cheerfully says goodbye to Heitor and Nice before heading to unlock his bike from where he’s parked it just off the sidewalk that snakes alongside the beach. 

His and Pedro’s apartment isn't far from Flamengo Beach, luckily, and so it takes less than twenty minutes before he is flinging the door open, toeing off his shoes and heading immediately for the kitchen. 

Resolving himself not to think about his mood, or Kageyama, for the rest of the night, Hinata busies himself at the stove. His love of cooking had its origins in his second year of high school; recovering from losses while simultaneously looking for ways to keep moving, he had turned to it with initial caution, but resolute determination. Now, being able to govern what kinds of food he ate, and knowing how it was helping to nourish his muscles and his mind, was extremely satisfying.

He’s also found that it’s fun to cook for others, and after he and Pedro began finding some common ground, Hinata immediately started cooking for his roommate as well. This was partially out of a desire to remedy Pedro’s questionable diet of cheap cornerstore food, but also just simply because he enjoyed it. It meant Hinata could talk to someone while he ate, and even if Pedro tended to be a rather quiet companion, his presence still helped with the loneliness near the beginning. 

So, about half an hour later, after he’s cooked the rest of the cabbage that was in the fridge and filled two bowls with rice—him with plain white rice and Pedro with rice that's been fried with garlic and onions, the way he liked his, and warmed some of the bean and beef stew he had made earlier in the week, he finds himself sitting at the table with Pedro across from him, eating contentedly.

“Have you ever been to the beach in front of Rua Farme de Amoedo?” Hinata asks him, as he’s mulling over his plans for the next couple of days. He’s been to some parts of Ipanema, but is still a little unsure about navigating that busy part of the city. He figures Pedro would probably have advice about getting there. 

Pedro jerks a little in his seat, looking up his bowl as he scoops rice into his mouth with a fork. Hinata doesn't notice how he suddenly looks a little hesitant when he says “No, why?”

Hinata explains that Nice had invited him to go Friday afternoon, adding on that he was trying to figure out the best way to get there. He knew the area well enough to know that it was too wealthy for many people living around it to order from Hinata’s work. 

“Oh,” is all Pedro says, poking at the chunks of cabbage on his plate. “Why would she offer to take you there?”

He’s looking at Hinata a little strangely, even after he tells him he’s going because there will be games going on that day. Pedro opens his mouth and shuts it a couple times before eventually just saying, “Yeah, sure, I can show you how to get there.” 

Hinata smiles. “Great!” he says, and then he launches into a telling of the things he had done today, gesticulating with his utensils as he describes his morning shift, and then his late practice with Heitor. 

Later that night, as Hinata is drying and putting away dishes and Pedro has said his nightly “Thanks for dinner, Shouyou!” before slipping his earbuds into his ears and heading into his bedroom, he gets a text from Yachi. 

_FIVE MONTHS! :D_

It was early morning in Japan, the same day of the month that Hinata had gotten on a plane and travelled for more than a day to get to Rio, nineteen months ago. Trust their reliable Karasuno manager to still be keeping close tabs on the four teammates she graduated with, and knowing exactly how long it would be until he returned to Japan. Hinata grinned down at his phone, tapping out a reply. 

_It's going by sooo fast!_

He attached a photo of a rainbow he had spotted over the mountains and sea back a week or so ago after a sudden downpour, and decided to add another line asking how her design courses were going. Her response was almost immediate.

_Beautiful!_

And then, 

_I’m really enjoying them!_

Hinata could see she was still typing, and then stopping, and then typing again. He waited until a third text pinged into his messages. 

_Did Kageyama tell you about the match last week?_

Hinata felt his mouth turn down at the corners, his promise not to think about Kageyama tonight already being inadvertently broken. He knew what Yachi was talking about, though—the national team had played Russia on Thursday and they had won singlehandedly, Kageyama scoring three service aces in the second set alone. It was an amazing game. 

He also knew what Yachi was trying to do. Hinata had accidentally told her over the phone once that Hinata and Kageyama had not really talked, at all, except about casual things, since Hinata had moved here. She had asked why, and even Hinata didn't have an answer. Well, he did have one. Kageyama was terrible at face-to-face communication, never mind texting. Asking him to be coherent via a keypad was just asking too much. 

But beyond that, it also felt like what he was doing here was somehow his own, and he couldn't _show_ Kageyama, yet. He had to wait.

But it was hard to articulate that to Yachi-san. 

_He didn't, did he?_

Unable to formulate a reply, Hinata put the last of the now-dry utensils in the drawer and hurried to his room to get ready to take a shower, carrying his phone with him. He gathered his towel and pajamas, sighing as he plugged in his phone to charge. He looked at it for a couple more seconds before sending off:

_He’s probably just busy with, y’know, interviews and stuff!_

And then,

_Goodnight Yachi!!_

He felt guilty ending their conversation, but, as he stood in the bathroom, peeling off his shorts and tank, he resolved himself to continue to avoid thinking about Kageyama. Stepping under the hot spray of the shower, he found himself sighing and internally apologizing to Yachi. He just couldn't distract himself from what he still wanted to achieve here, and that meant keeping his mind focused on beach volleyball.

And luckily, that would be easy, seeing as in one day he would have a whole weekend of playing, plus Friday night. 

Closing his eyes, he let the warm water wash through his hair and down his body, picturing bright sand and crashing waves, tumultuous and blue.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hinata goes to Ipanema.

Friday dawned sunny, hot, and humid. 

When Hinata climbed on his bike to go to the indoor gym where he played with an indoor volleyball club, sweat was already beading at his temples. 

He and Pedro’s apartment was located in one of Rio’s main residential areas, which meant that many of the places he regularly needed to go were in close proximity. Thanks in part to Kenma, he could afford to live where the beach courts, the gym, and his favorite markets were all within a twenty minute bike ride. And many of his delivery routes also took him only so far from his home. At first, the streets were overwhelming. Loud and bright and teeming, with tourists mingling with locals in bars and shops. It was scary, and he got lost among the mosaic of colorful buildings and unwelcoming alleyways more than times than he cared to admit. 

Now, though, as he pushed off into a bike lane and began pedaling towards the gym, he was completely at ease with the bustling atmosphere around him. To some extent, he felt he was a part of the city now, too. 

His time at the gym passed much too quickly, as it always did. The team he played with was local and fairly casual, but recommended by Kato-san. He stayed until about one-thirty, when his growling stomach convinced him to start piling balls back into the cart and gathering his things. He had mainly been practicing his jump serves, as his teammates had called it quits nearly an hour ago. 

Already soaked through with sweat, and knowing that he would just be soaked again by the time he returned to the apartment, Hinata opted to bike home and shower there. Then, he would have a few hours to eat and cool down, before leaving for Ipanema. 

Heitor had texted a reminder about the game start times earlier, although he told Hinata he wasn't planning on playing himself. He did have a couple friends playing, though, and so told Hinata he would be around to connect him. And Pedro had told him it was about a half hour bike ride, through Botafogo and Copacabana, so, at around 6:30, when the sun was still high in the sky, Hinata found himself back on his bike, headed for the beach. He was excited to play, and wondered what kind of players would be there. 

When he arrived at Posto 8, the first thing he saw, and the first thing anyone who came to Ipanema would see, was Morro Dois Irmãos, the twin peaks jutting up from the other side of the beach, looking hazy and far away from this far down the beach. 

Palm trees lined the middle of the road, and countless umbrellas were dotted in amongst vendors and bodies on the beach. Part of the reason Hinata hadn't gone to Ipanema all that often was the crowds, which made it hard to keep his focus on playing volleyball. So many people, from all over the world, laughed and lounged on this beach, it was sometimes overstimulating. But he was glad to be here this afternoon, instead of stuck in his room. Plus, he had never been down as far as Posto 8, so things might be different here, he figured. 

Hinata hopped off his bike, so he could jump onto the sidewalk and look for any signs of volleyball. He wheeled his bike along, eyes scanning the beach for nets or for Heitor and Nice. Flags flew everywhere, bearing national patterns, international patterns, in addition to miscellaneous patterns that bore advertisements, or rainbows. 

Just past a vendor on the sidewalk selling some kind of açaí dish, Hinata spotted a cluster of volleyball nets, with players already gathered in the courts. Perking up, he quickly found a place to lock up his bike, and trotted down into the sand, kicking off his shoes as he went. 

Most of the players were still milling around, laughing and talking with each other. A couple of them had drinks in their hands. No one seemed to have started playing yet, but, according to his phone, he was here just slightly before the seven o’clock start time. He sent a text off to Heitor, telling him he was here. 

As he was slipping his phone back into his pocket, he began hearing pieces of a conversation three guys were having a couple feet away. Their tone was excited, and suddenly Hinata realized he was recognizing fragments of their English. Likely because, among the words, he hears “ninja” and “Shouyou,” which catches him off guard and causes the tips of his ears to turn a little pink. He thinks he hears something about Japan as well, and he can't help but turn his head in their direction. 

He jumps a little when he sees them, all at once a little nervous. They're three young guys, probably his age or slightly younger, standing not too far to his right. One has green swim shorts on and sports shades pushed up on sun-bleached hair, but his two companions have little else on but tight fitting speedos. All three have varying shades of sun-darkened skin, and they immediately turn away when they see Hinata looking their way, but he can still hear them whispering animatedly. Revealing clothing was not necessarily something Hinata found unusual anymore, especially since he spent so much time on Rio’s public beaches, but, apart from volleyball players, Hinata felt that he rarely attracted attention. 

He watches the guy with green shorts call to someone bumping a ball in the middle of the nearest court, his hand waving above his head. When he notices him, he catches the ball on his fingertips and jogs over to the three guys, and Green Shorts _points_ to the spot where Hinata is standing while saying something, his mouth tugged upwards at the corners. 

Hinata quickly averts his gaze, pretending to be scanning beyond the nets for someone, which technically, he is. He hasn’t felt his phone vibrate with Heitor’s reply, and so he searches the crowd for his friends’ faces. 

“Oi!” Hinata’s head is already whipping around again, and his eyes land on Green Shorts, who is trotting over to him, pulling with him the guy he summoned off the court by the wrist. They approach him, Green Shorts with a wide smile that's revealing bright white teeth, and the other rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed. 

Green Shorts is at least a head taller than Hinata, with a lean build and a posture that screams confidence. He plants himself in front of Hinata before saying,

“Sorry we were talkin’ about you over there,” he gestures over his shoulder, tone not really sounding apologetic. “But my friend Marcus said he recognized you from circuit games, and apparently you're pretty amazing! Shouyou, right? Japanese names are so cool!” 

Hinata was trying to keep up with the flurry of English. 

“Anyway, this is my friend Peyton, he’s a big fan.” He pushes the other guy, Peyton? The name bounces around awkwardly in his head, towards him with both hands on his shoulders. Peyton’s tanned cheeks darken a little at his friends words, his hand raising in greeting.

“Hey,” he says. His hair is a pile of black waves, falling onto his forehead and shading his eyes. 

“He is super good at beach volleyball, but says we cheat, so he won’t sully his reputation by playing with us.” Peyton’s friend tilts his head down, grinning down at Peyton, who’s a little shorter than him. 

“So, he’s looking for a partner for tonight! What do you think? I promise you he’s good, and I think you two might get along! You are here to play, right?”

Hinata’s a little taken aback. He had planned on waiting until Heitor introduced him to the friends he knew were playing here. But... here was an offer, albeit a bit of a strange one, to play right now. He thinks. Where would the harm be in playing with this guy—Peyton—for a few games? The thought of someone being a fan of his made him unbelievably flustered. And, who was he to turn down an offer to play volleyball?

“Ah, don’t feel obligated, of course!” Peyton was speaking again before Hinata could reply, hand raised out in front of him. “I just thought it might be cool to play with you, Shouyou. But if you'd rather not, it was great just to meet you!” 

Obligated? 

“I’ll join you!” Hinata says, smiling and bowing a little, “It’s nice to meet you!”

“Really?!” Peyton straightens, surprise washing across his face. “Wow, t-thank you!” 

With this, his friend slaps Peyton on the back, giving him a friendly wink and saying “See, I told you.” Before running off to rejoin his group of friends. 

It turns out Peyton is a university student from Canada, studying in Rio for a year. He’s a year younger than Hinata, and he tells him that he used to be captain of his high school volleyball team, but now just plays occasionally for fun, and as a way to meet people. 

“Yeah, my sister was really good and ended up going to nationals a couple times, so I just sorta followed her.”

“Uwah! what position did you play?” 

“Oh. I played setter. Although, my sister was a libero, and everyone said I should've been one too. But, I guess I just liked setting more.” Peyton shrugged as he picked up his ball from the middle of the court, spinning it to shake off the sand. 

It turned out that Peyton was pretty good. He had a solid jump serve, and could move well in the unwieldy sand. In fact, when Hinata finally noticed the sun slipping beyond the horizon, he was still playing with him. They had won a total of three out of four matches, and were in the middle of a fifth. Heitor had ended up being the one to find Hinata, eventually. He and Nice sat on the sidelines for awhile after greeting Hinata, drinking colorful drinks and laughing and talking. Eventually, though, they had been carried away by people they knew, leaving Hinata to continue playing. 

Only when darkness crept up over the beach and started obscuring the net and their opponents behind it, did Hinata and Peyton call it quits. Peyton had long since disregarded his t-shirt, and Hinata’s tank was once again soaked through with sweat.

Hinata’s muscles ached pleasantly, and he felt a comfortable, satisfying warmth spread through himself, as he often did after a long game. He realized that he had really enjoyed playing with Peyton, and judging by the smile on his interim partner’s face, he had as well. 

“Come on,” Peyton said excitedly, as they were wiping sweat from their brows and leaving the court, pulling Hinata by the wrist. He led him through the crowds closer to the lapping waves, weaving in among beach chairs and towels, all lit up by the tall street lamps on the still-busy road behind them, as well as the glowing lights on the sides of vendors and kiosks. 

He led them to a circle of chairs and towels, where, a little to Hinata's surprise, the three guys he’d overheard earlier were sitting; he could see the glow of a volleyball game being played on one of their phones, and the three of them poured over it, commentating and cheering. 

“I’m gonna go get some drinks!” Peyton called out, depositing Hinata on a towel and just as quickly heading back off through the throng of people they had just come through. 

Hinata hadn’t even had time to tell him he didn't drink before Peyton had disappeared, leaving Hinata with his friends.

He figured he should be trying to find Nice and Heitor, but he didn't want to just get up and leave Peyton to come back and see that he was gone. He looked over the heads of Peyton’s friends, where he could see Dois Irmaos glowing faintly as the last light of the day faded. In front of him, the waves rolled up onto the sand, the soft whooshing of the dark water resounding in his ears. 

He watched the sea for a little while, his heartbeat steadying as the exertion from so much volleyball ebbed.

Eventually, he heard the sound of feet shuffling through the sand towards him. 

“Back!” Peyton was plopping down on the towel beside Hinata, two bright green drinks in his hands. He was still smiling as he brought the rim of one to his lips. He looked at Hinata as he sipped at it, holding out the other. 

He politely declined, explaining that he really should be headed home soon, as he had work the next morning. 

“What? Ninja Shouyou can’t hang out with us tonight?!” The guy with the green shorts, whom Hinata had never learned the name of, was lounging back in a low beach chair, speaking to Hinata with a small grin that made him want to fidget, a tad uncomfortable.

But Peyton was suddenly grabbing his shoulder. When Hinata turned, Peyton’s eyes were shining in his direction. “Just stay for a little, please? I think Marcus and Adrian are watching the Poland v US game, just stay till the end, okay?” 

So he stayed. Something about the eagerness in Peyton’s voice, and the feeling that he admired Hinata, made him reluctant to disappoint him, even if he wasn't really one for late nights or weekends off. He stayed and caught pieces of the audio and video playing off the phone of the game, and he watched the beach and the stars, which were dimmed by the light of the city. Peyton sat with him on their shared towel, drinking first his and then what would've been Hinata's caipirinha, until eventually Hinata thought he could see his cheeks take on a flushed hue, though it was hard to tell in the low light. 

It was just as Hinata was about to turn away from Peyton, realizing he didn't want to be caught staring, that Peyton turned his head and caught his gaze. Hinata realized that his eyes were light and clear, maybe green, or blue. 

“You know, Shouyou, I really enjoyed playing volleyball with you tonight.” 

Hinata grinned at him. “I had fun, too!” He said. 

They lapsed into silence for several seconds, before Peyton suddenly placed his fingers atop Hinata's where they lay fiddling idly with the edge of the towel. 

Hinata startled, his eyes wide and flying to Peyton’s face in a question. Peyton was blushing, even as he moved closer to Hinata, scooting so he sat right in from of him, toes tucked beneath him. 

“I think… you’re cute.” Peyton leaned towards him, and Hinata was beginning to feel locked in place, his exercise-weary muscles seizing up as he stared in horror at this—this, _guy_ , gazing down at him, eyes hooded and cheeks flushed. 

What was happening?

Peyton reached up with one hand, and, as he pressed it to the side of Hinata’s face, he reacted immediately, flinching away bodily. Before he knew it he was on his feet, just as he heard someone let out a low whistle from somewhere a few feet away.

“Um!” He hears himself say, his voice several octaves higher than usual. He can't bring himself to look back down at Peyton when he all but shouts “I-I have to go! I'm sorry!”

And then he’s heading back the way they had come earlier, not looking back, towards the volleyball courts, towards his bike and the road. He’s pulling out his phone with shaking hands, sending off another message to Heitor, frantically asking where he was. He needs to go home, but he was going to go back to his neighborhood with Nice and Heitor, which was safer than biking back alone in the dark. 

He trips over something as he's looking down at his screen, and when he looks up he finds himself flinching away again. He had kicked over a beer bottle next to two men, who, Hinata realizes, are practically in each other’s laps, and they’re kissing. 

His mind stops, stutters, and then seems to start up again in overtime, and he spins to continue fleeing towards the edge of the sand, shocked and desperate to leave. 

As he emerges from the crowd and back onto the now deserted volleyball court, he searches for Nice’s long blonde hair, or the white baseball cap he had seen Heitor wearing earlier, his shadow whirling frantically with him on the sand as he debates simply going home on his own, even though it worried him to do so.

But then he thinks he hears Heitor’s laugh, loud and carrying. He spins in the direction he thinks it’s coming from, and, indeed, luck was at least momentarily on his side. He spots Heitor and Nice at one of the small vendors up near the road, not twenty meters from where his bike is locked up. 

He all but runs up to them, his heart still thumping wildly in his chest as he tries to compose himself before approaching them.

Nice sees him first, and Hinata thinks he sees her friendly smiles waver just a bit when she sees his face, with wide eyes and breath coming in gasps. But Heitor notices him then too, and a big smile falls over his face, oblivious to any of Hinata’s panic.

“Shouyou! We’ve been looking for ya, but it seemed like you were havin’ enough fun on your own, haha” He’s holding a beer, and a couple people near him chuckle as he speaks to Hinata. 

Nice puts a hand on her boyfriend’s shoulder, pivoting him from the circle of people he’d been talking to, “Actually,” she says, “we were looking for you because we were about to head out, weren't we? Come on, kid.”

To Hinata’s relief, Heitor and Nice say their goodbyes fairly quickly, and they head to the bike rack to grab Hinata’s bike, and then along the sidewalk to find the spot where Nice had parked her car. 

Hinata jumped a little each time he heard a particularly loud noise from the beach or the bars lining the opposite side of the street, the sounds of people celebrating the arrival of the weekend now making his ears ring. 

When they reach it and Heitor is lifting Hinata’s bike onto the trunk rack, Nice turns to Hinata. 

He had been valiantly trying to calm himself as they walked, but as Nice tries to pry his gaze away from the sidewalk by ducking down low to catch his eye, he can still tell his face is probably pale. 

“Hey,” she asks, “you ok, Shouyou?” Her eyes momentarily slide to look out over the beach behind them, and then land back on him. Her tone changes from her usual light and teasing one when she asks, “Did something happen?”

Hinata makes an effort to smile, hoping his emotions aren't too transparent. “No, I had fun tonight!” He’s moving to hop into the backseat as he sees Heitor finish securing his bike, before she can say anything more. 

The ride back to Flamengo has Nice glancing back to look at Hinata in the mirror every few seconds.

When they drop him off at their usual spot not too far from his apartment, Nice leans across the seat and out the window as Heitor unfastens Hinata's bike and sets it on the sidewalk for him. “Don’t forget to text me when you get back!” She commands, her eyes lingering over Hinata's face for several seconds too long.

“I will!” He says, again summoning a smile to his face. He waves as they pull back onto the street, and then he pushes off on his bike, pedaling hard towards his apartment. 

He doesn't realize he’s crying until he turns onto the street where his building is located. Briefly, madly, he thinks he shouldn't be, as large globs of tears roll unbidden down his cheeks. His mind is still racing, and he thinks of Nice’s question: 

“Did something happen?”

 _Did_ anything happen? Why was he crying, was he just exhausted from a day playing more than six games? Tired from a week of being in the hot sun for work and for training? What had happened back on Ipanema, not half an hour ago?

He all but threw his bike into the storage area at the bottom of his building when he arrived, scrubbing at his eyes as he climbed the stairs, tears still sliding down his cheeks.

When he reached his floor, he noticed a light shining out from the kitchen window, illuminating the concrete floor beneath in an orange, curtain-muted glow. He briefly considered that it was odd, because Pedro also preferred to stay in on weekend nights, opting to sequester himself in his darkened room and watch an anime or read a book.

But he was suddenly too tired to care, and so he turned his key in the lock and opened his front door, stepping in and shutting himself off from the rest of Rio for the night. He leaned his back against the door, his head in his hands as he sniffled and let out a shaky sigh. He longed, for a moment then, for home. 

And then he heard a voice, and froze. For a moment he stood stock still, wondering if he was imagining it, that voice, when it spoke again, this time pronouncing a name. 

“Hinata?”

He peeled his palms from his eyelids and slowly lifted his head, his eyes somehow, impossibly, rising to meet a pair of terribly familiar blue eyes.

“Kageyama?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading thru to chapter two!
> 
> I haven't stopped crying over 387 and it's been more than a week.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hinata and Kageyama, reunited in Brazil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for this fic just kinda hit me in the face one day, and while it is ultimately short and (I hope) sweet, writing it has been a joy. I wrote it out over the course of a week, and I am pretty happy with what it's turned out to be.
> 
> I love these two characters. I hope you like it too, and I look forward to writing more soon ヽ(‘ ∇‘ )ノ

Time seems to come nearly to a standstill. Like the way it often did when he was about to hit a toss and he could see over the top of the net, beyond any blockers in his way. In the time it would take him to reach his palm up and spike a ball, Hinata has several things bubble to the forefront of his mind. 

The first, absurdly, as he stands against his front door, arms held helplessly still halfway to his face, his eyes surely rimmed with red and his nose running, is that Kageyama’s hair is long again. 

He looks different than he did last time they had been together. Standing there next to the couch where him and Pedro sometimes watch One Piece or Naruto, a phone gripped loosely in one hand and the other grabbing the strap of a white and black duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he looks _bigger_ , in the kind of way you might expect of an Olympic-level athlete. He has on a loose jacket, which is odd considering the humid heat that permeated every corner of Rio, even during the night, but even through the sleeves it's possible to tell that he's more well-muscled than he was two years ago. Hinata had seen him on TV, of course, during his games with the Adlers or the national team, but seeing him now made all the differences much more apparent.

His hair is styled in a center part, with his bangs pushed to the sides. His eyes look the same though, albeit his expression, which seems to be morphing into one of confusion and concern. Three years of reading Kageyama on and off the court left him with a permanent ability to discern every frown and scowl, and right now his eyebrows are furrowing into a guise of deeper and deeper bewilderment. 

Which brings Hinata to his second thought. Confusion. Confusion, and panic. 

_Why is Kageyama here, now, in his apartment, eleven thousand miles away from Japan?_

This is not how he imagined their reunion, not _at all_. 

Hinata was supposed to leave Brazil in five months, try out for division one teams in the V.league, and meet Kageyama, face-to-face across the net, for the first time since they were in middle school. 

And he was supposed to win, using all the training and skills that he had honed overseas. He was going to surprise him, by beating him.

_Would that happen now?_

But, the third thing in his mind, is—even though this is horrible timing and Hinata has no idea how to begin to explain to his best friend who he hasn't seen in person in a year and a half why he just came barging into his own apartment ugly crying—that instantly, upon laying his eyes on Kageyama, that niggling, ever-present gaping void of loneliness in his head snapped shut. And, despite his accelerating heart rate, and despite his desire for this _not_ to be how they come back together again, something in his chest is clicking back into place, and the smallest tendril of relief begins winding its way into his heart. 

So much emotion and conflict is whirling around in him, he doesn't know how react. 

He’s assailed by some distant, ironic nostalgia when he finds himself defensively, automatically, blurting, “What are you doing here?” 

His voice is choked, and the question comes out sounding more like an accusation than he intended it to. Nevertheless, Kageyama just turns to face him more directly, looking rather speechless.

“I—What’s wrong?” His voice is also the same as it was in high school. It’s demanding, and, if it wasn’t Hinata and instead someone else standing there, they may have thought Kageyama was the one angry about the fact that _he_ had been the one to show up, uninvited, _too goddamn soon_.

Hinata was suddenly standing bolt upright, and then he was storming across the hardwood floor, slamming into Kageyama and burying his face in his chest.

Sobs are racking him, and he finds he can't help it. His willpower, already weakened by his encounter on the beach not an hour ago, is temporarily shattered by this completely mad development where Kageyama is standing in his living room.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, BAKAGEYAMA!” He’s sort of screaming now, and if Pedro doesn't have his headphones on, then his roommate might soon find himself in a very awkward situation. 

Kageyama’s arms fly to Hinata’s, whether with the intention to simply hold him where he was or push him away he’s not sure. 

“Hinata. Hinata!” Kageyama is shouting, his voice etched with concern. After a second Hinata pulls his head away enough to look up at him, and finds him frowning mightily down at him in worry. 

“What happened?”

Ah, that question again. How stupid Hinata was. 

Hinata continued to cry into the front of Kageyama’s shirt, in anger, in happiness, in confusion, he wasn’t sure. He was overwhelmed, clinging to his rival and best friend, who should've been half a world away.

His mind was incoherent. Questions were swirling around in it, along with a sense of despair that this is how they are meeting each other after years apart. But, more than that, Hinata cannot help feeling that little thread of relief that rises up throughout him spread, and he realizes that, to some extent, he’s been lonely this whole time. No matter how much time he's spent busying himself, working or playing volleyball or cooking or meditating on the beach, he’s been fighting against loneliness the whole time he's been here. Even though he's tried so hard to make himself okay.

He ends up staying there like that for a couple minutes, until his sobs subside and his breaths begin to steady, pulling in the scent of Kageyama’s t-shirt.

And then, not bothering to raise his head from Kageyama’s chest, Hinata says, out of all the things to say, “I need to shower.” 

Kageyama’s only reaction is to snort softly above him, and Hinata can feel his voice in his chest when he says, “What?”

After a pause, because somehow Hinata knows…

“You're…staying, right?”

Kageyama pulls away slightly and looks at him, skeptical. “Yes,” and then, “If you… want me to.” 

Hinata gives him a profoundly grumpy look, stepping away from him finally to put his hands on his hips. Now that he's cried his eyes out, the smallest bit of something like giddiness is reviving him. He again finds himself saying, or rather mumbling “bakageyama,” and then he’s tapping his best friend on the chest with one hand, and giving him a look.

“Come wait in my room. If my roommate comes out of his bedroom and sees a giant standing in his living room, he might beat you to death with a broom, or something.” 

Kageyama doesn't protest, only following Hinata through their small apartment and into his bedroom. Hinata can tell that he's still utterly lost about his bizarre reaction to seeing him, but he opts to deal with that after he’s rinsed away the chaos of the day. 

But before that… speaking of his roommate, and how he clearly wasn't aware what was going on outside his bedroom door,

“Wait.” Hinata whips around to squint suspiciously at Kageyama. “How _did_ you get into my house?”

“Your landlord… knew me.”

“He knew—” Hinata is remembering the few times he’s spoken to his landlord. Besides discussing aspects of his lease and rent, he can recall that he had mentioned that he was, like many people in Brazil, a fan of volleyball.

“And he just, opened the door for you?! Because he’s seen you on TV??” 

Kageyama shrugs, somehow not seeing how insane that was. Hinata rolls his eyes, also opting to deal with _that_ another day, as well. 

He quickly gathers the things he needs for the bathroom, and leaves Kageyama standing at the foot of his bed as he scurries back across the apartment.

He hurries through his shower, but despite the way his hands are frantically scrubbing shampoo through his hair, the warm water has the effect of his slowing his mind. 

It's then, his eyes snapping open suddenly, that he remembers that he thinks he _knows_ why Kageyama is here.

  
  


When Hinata returns from his shower, Kageyama is sitting on the edge of his bed. He had put his duffel bag up against the closet, and he had extracted a nail file from it, which he was currently using, bangs hanging over his eyes as he tended to his immaculate fingertips.

“You have a game.” Hinata announces, hair still dripping with water and a towel tied around his waist. 

Kageyama looks up at him, his mouth pulling up at one corner.

“Dumbass,” he says. 

“Oi!” Hinata retorts, “I have my own life, okay? How do you know if I even watch your games?!” 

Kageyama just grins some more, the jerk, pulling the nail file away from his fingers and pushing himself off the bed to put it away. 

Hinata can’t help but watch him as he bends over to zip up the duffel bag. He’s still noticing differences about him, like the way his shoulders have broadened. With his jacket now discarded, his t-shirt pulls taught over his back as he tugs the zipper closed. 

Hinata feels his cheeks warming, and his heart briefly jolts in his chest as he recalls the events of earlier tonight. When Kageyama stands and turns around, seeing Hinata’s stricken expression, he feels a little bad, probably because he is likely giving Kageyama whiplash tonight with his emotions as they were.

Yet all Kageyama does is look at him, serious and cautious when he asks, “Do you want me to know?”

Hinata doesn't have to consider for long before he shakes his head. “I’d rather you tell me why you're _here_.” 

This is what they spend the remainder of the evening talking about. Kageyama excuses himself briefly to get ready for bed, heading to the bathroom while Hinata changes into pajama bottoms, plugs his phone in and sits it on the nightstand, and scrubs his towel through his hair one more time. 

When Kageyama returns, they both sit on Hinata's bed and he explains that indeed, the national team had a game against Brazil tomorrow night. He tells Hinata that he had come directly from San Jobim airport to Hinata’s apartment, and he tells him that Yachi had all but cursed him out over the phone a couple days ago, to which Hinata finds to be the most shocking piece to this whole story. Kageyama says she insisted that he visit Hinata while in Rio, and that it would be _inexcusably_ rude to come to Brazil and not visit him, after all they'd done together. So Kageyama had promised her, and, after three years of adhering to her wisdom in high school, figured he would be remiss to break that promise.

In addition, she had demanded a selfie of the two of them together this weekend, and so he was just about obligated to comply. 

At that, Hinata laughs, and he sees Kageyama watching him as he does so, his eyes gazing fondly at his partner-through-high-school. 

He seems to relax a little then as well, his shoulders loosening and his posture softening as he sits, cross-legged on Hinata’s bed. 

Hinata wants to talk more, instinctively he wants to tell Kageyama all about the volleyball he’s played while here in Brazil, but in addition to his stubborn promise not to reveal the things he's learned quite yet, he’s also extremely tired. As he realizes this, he yawns, holding a hand up to stifle it. 

Kageyama sees this, and his expression briefly flickers as he glances down at the pillows against Hinata’s headboard before asking, point blank,

“Can I sleep in here with you?”

Hinata sputters, eyebrows shooting to his hairline at Kageyama’s brazenness. It’s not like they hadn't shared a bed before in high school, but still. But then he’s continuing, 

“Your couch looks like it belongs in a garbage heap, and I’m pretty sure if I told my coach that I can't play tomorrow because I was forced to sleep on a dingy couch that ruined my back, he would—”

Hinata is whacking him on the side with a pillow. 

“No fair! Stupid, professional athlete!” Hinata is pouting, but then he’s laughing again, at Kageyama, at the whole situation he now found himself in. It's still so unbelievable, and he thinks it'll take more than a night’s sleep to convince himself that this is real.

Nevertheless, it’s not long before Hinata is flicking off the light switch, padding back to the bed to slide himself under the covers. Kageyama is already across from him, lying on his back. Shadows dance around the room, coming in through the windows above Hinata’s bed and the result of tropical evergreen leaves swaying amongst the streetlights outside. Hinata is settling himself in, turning over to splay onto his stomach, when Kageyama asks him a question. 

“Who’s Nice?”

Hinata looks up to see him staring down at Hinata’s phone. It's on the nightstand next to him, but it's lighting up with a notification. He belatedly realizes he had forgotten to text her when he had returned. 

“She’s my partner’s girlfriend. She told me to text to make sure I got back ok.” He sighs, gesturing, and Kageyama lifts the phone from the table and passes it to him, the charging cord falling across his friend’s forearms. He sends off a quick reassuring message to Nice, before handing the phone back to Kageyama to place on the table beside him.

“Oh,” Is his only reply. 

Hinata smashes his face into his pillow, sliding his arms up and under the comparatively cool underside of his pillow, and kicking the covers until his feet are freed to the warm, but marginally less so than under his covers, circulating air of his bedroom. He sighs, exhaustion melding his body to the bed. 

“Goodnight, Kageyama-kun” he says into the pillow, and the words still sound impossible.

“Goodnight, Hinata.”

Briefly, as he’s slipping into unconsciousness, he thinks he feels the ghost of fingers at the back of his head, gently moving over the shorter hair there, but he’s too tired to question it. His last thought, before drifting off into a heavy, dreamless sleep, is that perhaps Kageyama’s presence here, now, falling asleep beside him, wasn't as bad as he thought it was after all. 

  
  


When he wakes in the morning, he finds himself sprawled across the mattress, hand hanging over one side and the sheets a tangle around his legs. 

It doesn't take him long to come to full wakefulness, and when he does, he realizes that he's the only one in his bed. Kageyama is gone. 

Before he can begin to question if he only imagined Kageyama showing up to his and Pedro’s apartment last night, he finds a small sheet of yellowy paper on his kitchen counter. On it is a brief note written in Kagayama’s messy scrawl.

_With the team. Back around 8._

Well, okay then.

Hinata huffs, bringing both palms up to rub at his tired eyes. 

He has a lot to do today, beginning with a delivery shift, and a lot to think about, too. 

_Breakfast_ , he thinks, _I'll start with breakfast_. 

He makes his meal quietly, moving about the kitchen on light feet and putting all his focus into tending to the fish on the stove and the eggs sizzling away on the adjacent burner. 

Pedro doesn't wake at any point to meander into the kitchen, which is true to form, for him. Unlike some days though, today he is thankful for the morning solitude. 

He eats his breakfast alone at the kitchen counter, legs swinging gently between the legs of his stool as he does so. 

Then he has to get ready for work, so he washes up and quickly packs up leftovers for lunch, and goes back into his room to throw on a light-colored, long sleeved rash guard and a t-shirt. He pulls on shorts, and then heads into the bathroom, where one thing he does that has become a morning habit as well as a necessity, is to lather sunscreen on every strip of skin that would be exposed to the equatorial summer sun. After he finishes up in the bathroom, he zips his lunch and some other necessities into his messenger bag, throws on a hat, and is out the door. 

Delivering food on his bicycle on the sweltering streets of Rio for half of the day didn’t often leave room for Hinata to contemplate more than the addresses he needed to find. Today is no exception. Between dodging pedestrians, seeking out street signs, and scurrying into buildings to hand boxes of food to customers, he doesn't even have time to think about volleyball, much less Kageyama. 

But this also means that his shifts always seem to end right after they've begun. Before he knows it, Hinata is waving goodbye to his manager for the day, and pedaling away down the road. 

He only gets a block or two, when he sees some municipal workers have blocked off his normal route, probably for street cleaning. He veers off his path, to take a detour around one more block and meet back up at the road he usually travels on. When he does this, he crosses a larger intersection that he’s never passed through before. He has to stop for a traffic light, and it's then that his eyes catch the words on a nearby street sign. It's pointing down the street to his left, and it reads: _Ipanema._

He looks down briefly at his phone, considering. It’s barely after 1:30pm. He wasn't exactly pressed for time, yet. When the light in front of him turns from red to green, he’s forced to make a decision. And so he decides, kicking off and pedaling in the opposite direction of his apartment. 

He arrives near the famous beach at a location a little further down than he was last night. Dois Irmaos looks bigger, closer, and just off the road he can see the towering lifeguard structure labeled “Posto 10.” 

Cycling down towards Posto 8, where he was the previous night, Hinata tries to quash the anxiety rising within him. Summoning the tactics he had learned and deployed over the last few years to keep himself clear-headed during a match, he wheels up to Rua Farme de Amoedo.

And he watches.

The beach is busier than it was last night, the first full day of the summer weekend drawing large crowds. 

Stepping down onto the hot sand, he skirts the densest clusters of beachgoers. With his beach-appropriate clothing, tanned skin, and stature it's easy for him to get lost in the crowd, and so he's free to meander to the shoreline, where the tide cools his toes and he feels a little less surrounded. 

He can hear the lapping waves and flags snapping in the wind all along the sand. He can also hear the smack of a ball hitting skin—he’d seen some people repurposing the volleyball nets from last night for _futevolei_ , and they darted around the sand, sending the ball this way and that with their feet. Even though there are many people here, and Hinata can hear the hum of some conversations and the distant yells of souvenir-vendors advertising their wares, these are the sounds that dominate. 

There is a couple walking down the beach. Hinata notices them as their shadows, linked by the hands, cross his where it’s cast out into the shallow waves.

He turns, watching as the two walk past him and away. One of them, a blond man of medium height, has his head turned towards his partner and is laughing, his eyes pinched closed with mirth. His partner has dark brown hair, and he, too, is laughing in turn at whatever the blond man had said. Their footprints are washed over by the waves, and Hinata’s gaze follows them as they stroll further down the shoreline, until the footprints near him are washed away completely.

Behind him, two girls are laying on a bright pink beach towel. One, with kinky dark hair and big sunglasses, is reading a book. The other lay next to her, entwining her ankle with her girlfriend and almost lazily twirling a strand of the super curly hair around a finger. 

There's something… something earth-rending in these interactions. How they exist so simply and calmly right in front of him, is astonishing. And yet, in a laughably obvious way, in a way that he knows he's seen before. Been a part of, before.

Hinata turns back to the sea, looking out to the horizon, where the water met the cloudless sky, his vision suffused with blue. 

“I see,” he whispers, the beach breeze snatching his words and sending them far down the sandy shore. 

  
  


Hinata only has time to drop back by his apartment to change clothes and grab a banana, and then he’s out the door again, headed for practice with Heitor and some locals out on Flamengo. 

Blessedly, Heitor doesn't ask him about the night before when he arrives. There are five people near their court, apart from him, which means they will be able to play two teams tonight. Heitor is already warming up on one end, sending jump serves sailing to the other side and plainly fixated more on his movements than on Hinata. 

They play until 6 o’clock, a demanding nearly three hours of game-time, minus the breaks they got while the two other pairs played each other. 

Before he goes home, Heitor does tell Hinata that Nice mentioned wanting him to call her, but he doesn't ask for the reason why. Hinata appreciates Heitor's mellow personality all the more then, and tells him to tell Nice that he promises to call tomorrow. 

When he gets home, he decides to make curry for dinner. 

Hinata had checked the game schedule earlier on his phone, and Kageyama’s match had started almost half and hour ago. Despite his note, Kageyama probably wasn't sure what time he would be done with his match and with subsequent interviews and team meetings. And Hinata knew that the length of a match depended on a lot of factors. That knowledge, plus his growling stomach, was the impetus for Hinata to forego waiting for Kageyama for dinner, and making the curry relatively soon after he got back from the beach. He could heat up leftovers for Kageyama later, if he hadn't already eaten.

Pedro makes his appearance as Hinata's scraping diced onions off a chopping board and into a sauce pan. They start sizzling immediately, and he arranges the remainder of the chopped vegetables and spices on the counter next to him, readying them to be cooked next, before turning and seeing Pedro slide onto a stool with an armful of study materials, probably for his university work.

“Smells good,” he says by way of greeting, a tad awkward as always, but still offering Hinata a smile as he settles onto his seat and opens up a textbook. 

“Thanks!” Hinata chirps, and then he tucks a nonexistent strand of hair behind his ear, fingers brushing the short waves above his ear, still damp from the shower. 

He doesn't know if he should tell Pedro that Kageyama was staying here, or simply wait to explain when Kageyama inevitably showed up and they ended up in a room together. He knows his roommate always attended tutoring sessions at his school on Sunday evenings, and so usually got dinner out on those days, so there's some nonzero chance that Pedro could go the whole weekend not even knowing a third person was staying in his apartment. But also, if he did tell him, what was he going to say? ‘Oh by the way my friend from high school who is now an Olympian is staying with me this weekend. Oh where is he sleeping? Just with me, in my bed.’

Hinata is chewing on the corner of his lip now, turning back to stir his onions and then dump the remainder of the vegetables in to cook with them. He knows Pedro wouldn't care, realistically, but, Hinata is still reluctant to explain it all to him. 

In the end he just doesn't end up saying anything. When the curry is finished simmering on the stovetop and Hinata is ladeling it into bowls of rice for the both of them, he considers broaching the subject, but then can't manage to formulate his first sentence, so he gives up. 

They eat their dinners, Pedro helps him wash up, then says goodnight, and that's it. It’s nearly eight when they're finished and the kitchen is clean, so when Hinata hears Pedro’s bedroom door click shut, he turns off the overhead light in the kitchen, and goes to sprawl across their couch and wait for Kageyama. 

Now that he finally has time for his mind to catch up with all the things that have been thrown at it in the last twenty-four hours, he’s so remarkably tired that he struggles to seriously consider the epiphany he had had on the beach earlier, or it's implications. 

He is warm from his shower and his stomach is full, and, despite Kageyama’s criticism, the old and worn couch he is laying on was still undeniably comfortable. He tries to remain conscious, he really does, but he doesn't think more than fifteen minutes have passed before he’s out cold, the many thoughts in his head dissipating like fog as sleep overtakes him. 

He’s awoken by a hand pressing gently onto his shoulder, and a familiar voice above him, saying his name. 

He rolls over to face the voice, eyes still closed and mind slow as it drags itself into consciousness. 

That voice.

Realization dawning on him, he moans, “I hate my landlord.”

He cracks his eyes open. His living room is dark, the only light a strip of yellow slicing between the kitchen windows and stretching across the apartment to the living room wall. He glances up at the man standing over him. Kageyama’s face is almost completely cast in shadows, and he can't see his expression as he looks down at Hinata.

Hinata pulls himself to an upright position, and he notices as Kageyama withdraws his palm from his shoulder. 

His voice quiet as it speaks into the stillness of the apartment, he asks, “How was the match?” 

There's a second’s pause before: “We lost.”

“Oh,” Hinata says, intelligently. And then, because he can't think of anything else to say. “I made curry, you can have some.” 

He’s hauls himself off the couch, standing and still feeling absolutely drained. He’s taken one step towards the kitchen when Kageyama is admitting, “Ah, I already ate. The press kept us late, so a couple of us went out to get something. They insisted I come with them.” 

Hinata glances over at the clock at the back of the stove. _10:12_.

He imagines Kageyama is also probably utterly spent, having had a full day of official practice and events and a game, and then perhaps more than an hour talking to reporters. While that all sounds incredibly exciting to Hinata, he knew his friend was not one for excessive, vocal interpersonal communication. And while he still can't see Kageyama’s face all that clearly, his shoulders do look a little slumped in the gloom of this apartment, he thinks.

So he says “Okay,” and then, “do you want to sleep?” 

He can tell before he says it that Kageyama’s answer is “Yes,” and before he knows it they are both padding to his bedroom. Each of their respective days was wearying in their own right, and Hinata doesn't even bother to turn on the bedroom light as he gets ready for bed. Kageyama had showered at Maracanazinho, the stadium, and so they take turns brushing their teeth in the bathroom.

Hinata makes it into bed first, and amazingly, he doesn't even feel it when the mattress dips several minutes later when Kageyama lays down next to him. He’s asleep again almost as soon as his head collides with his pillow, sleeping soundly until morning.

  
  


This time, Hinata wakes before Kageyama. 

The light in Hinata’s bedroom is dim and grey, filtering in from the windows above him. He can hear the patter of raindrops against his windows and against the leaves of the trees outside, an early morning tropical storm rumbling gently across the city, and likely headed for the lush, moist forests beyond its limits.

Hinata lay there unmoving for several minutes, listening to the sound of raindrops and distant thunder, before Kageyama shifts in bed next to him. Hinata rolls to face him. He’s laying on his side facing Hinata, his long fingers tucked beneath his head. 

Just like in high school, on the occasions where Kageyama had stayed the night at his house or Hinata had woken up on a bus ride home from a match to find him still asleep next to him, his friend’s face was relaxed in sleep. His mouth was slack, and his expression was untroubled, bangs falling across his nose and cheeks. All the worries and lines in his forehead that accompanied the demands of life and volleyball when he was awake were smoothed, and it made Hinata happy, to have the chance to wake up next to Kageyama in Brazil, early on a rainy Sunday morning, with the day stretching, unknown and full of potential out in front of him.

He really was happy. Happy that Kageyama was happy and successful. Happy for the experiences he had had over the last year and a half, and happy that somehow they had been brought together so unexpectedly, at a time when, Hinata realized, he needed him, to make him just a little less lonely on the other side of the world.

Hinata stretches, curling his toes contentedly and raising his arms up over his head. As he's bringing them down, he reaches out slowly, watching for any signs that his friend was waking and, seeing none, using his fingers to delicately sweep Kageyama’s hair from his face. 

Hinata lays there for awhile longer, watching his peaceful companion, and thinking, until eventually his stomach makes a small noise of protest and his thoughts shift to the kitchen, and breakfast.

His Sundays were never particularly busy. In addition to being a rest day for his body, Sundays also usually consisted of a three-hour shift teaching volleyball at a visitor’s center for tourists and their families. Another opportunity that had been graciously offered by Kato-san, and one that Hinata really enjoyed, because he liked helping show others just how fun his sport was. 

But when he pulls the covers away from his torso and steps out of bed, moving around to Kageyama’s side to pluck his phone from the table, he sees a text from the activities coordinator at the center. Because of the rain, it looks like the classes on the beach were being cancelled, meaning his day has been freed up entirely.

He’s contemplating Kageyama’s schedule when he throws on a plain white t-shirt and creeps out of the bedroom, leaving the door cracked open an inch. He wonders if he’ll have to leave today, _which_ , Hinata thinks, _he probably will_. 

The thought makes his chest clench. _How much time will he have with him? Will he have to meet up with his team again, or need to catch an early flight?_

He’s filled with trepidation, a sense of urgency infiltrating his mind. He busies himself, filling a kettle and listing to the _click-click-click_ of the burner as it ignites to heat the water for tea. 

Then he pulls an assortment of fruit from the fridge, cutting them into bright, colorful cubes and placing them in a bowl. Next, he grabs milk, along with a carton of eggs. 

He takes a mug and a glass down from the cabinet, sets them on the counter, and then turns to cook the eggs.

Kageyama appears as he’s taking the whistling kettle off the stovetop, pouring the liquid into his mug to steep. 

“Morning!” Hinata says cheerfully, hoping there's nothing in his voice that belies the conflict swirling within him. 

Kageyama yawns, and then his eyes scan the food laid out on the counter. Then they move up to land on Hinata, who is smiling at his friend’s surprise to see a meal has been prepared for them both. 

Something about him, the slight brightening of his eyes at the prospect of food, or his sleep-mussed hair, as he stands there in his pajamas, the morning after playing against the number one volleyball team in the world, makes Hinata react instinctively.

He wants to be closer to him, and so he pads the few steps across the space between them, until he's right across from him.

A question looks like it's about to bubble from Kageyama’s lips, but just as he’s opening his mouth, Hinata leans into him, wrapping his hands around his solid frame, tiptoeing and nestling his chin into Kageyama’s shoulder. 

“I’m glad you came to visit me.” He says simply.

Kageyama only tenses the smallest amount, and then he’s relaxing into the hug, and Hinata feels his arms wrap around him in turn. They both sigh into the embrace, holding on to each other and enjoying the uncomplicated feeling of being together after so long. Outside, raindrops splash onto the roof in a lulling rhythm, and Hinata's eyes fall shut.

  
  


They spend the day mostly in amiable silence. It turns out Kageyama’s flight isn't until later tonight, and he needs to spend the day recovering from the match and doing other things required of a pro player, like emailing with his manager about sponsor-related things and other travel itineraries. 

Hinata also has things to do, despite his cancelled teaching shift. He finishes his tea and then, improvising because of the rain, meditates on the floor of his bedroom. It's only a little difficult, as Kageyama sits on his bed, tapping at his laptop and teasing him every once in a while.

He does laundry, and tidies the apartment. Pedro only leaves his room to grab food, and once, as he's doing so, Hinata is returning from the laundry space on the bottom floor of their building. Hinata had left the door to his bedroom open, and as he crosses the threshold into the apartment he finds himself careening down the hallway, past a bemused Pedro and into his bedroom, throwing his laundry basket onto the bed where it bounces and spills socks all over Kageyama’s computer and slamming the door shut. 

He giggles at his friend’s annoyed scowl, Kageyama picking socks up and throwing them onto the floor. Hinata makes a noise of indignation, and then bends over to begin gathering all the articles of clothing back up again. 

Around three, Kageyama takes a nap. Hinata sits beside him on his bed, humming softly and pulling out his phone and earbuds. He pulls up a replay of the Brazil v. Japan game from last night, and settles onto his mattress, legs crossed. 

The match was long, and Hinata is captivated by how well Kageyama’s team was able to handle such a powerful team. They actually won the first set, Ushijima sending ball after ball slamming down onto Brazil's side of the court.

The other team countered in the second and third sets, though. Hinata can tell how they were able to adjust to Ushijima’s monstrous spikes, and shift to offensive plays. 

Almost two hours later, when Kageyama is awake again, the afternoon sun begins peaking out through the clouds, and the rain relents into a soft drizzle.

Pedro had left for his tutoring, and so Hinata and Kageyama are out in the kitchen. Kageyama has packed up his things and his duffel bag sits next to the front door, ready for his departure. 

“I don’t understand,” Hinata is saying as he’s pulling out leftover curry for the both of them to eat for dinner, “how is Santos so impossible to stop? His serves aren't even as intense as—what's his name—number 3?”

Kageyama is sitting at the counter as they discuss his match. “Batista. It’s not his serves that make him hard to handle, he just has an incredible grasp on the atmosphere of the game. Plus, he’s been on the team for six years already.”

“Hmph.” Hinata remarks, waving a spoon in the air. “Well, what's his vertical? 11’5”? Mine’s higher.”

Kageyama scoffs, and then the corner of his mouth twitches. “I know,” he says, and Hinata smirks.

Later, when the sun is nearly setting and the rain clouds have vanished almost entirely, the sky is streaked in gold and the roads below Hinata’s apartment have mist curling up off them, that sense of urgency returns to paint itself in Hinata's mind. 

Kageyama is standing at the counter, checking in for his flight on his phone, and with his bag already slung over his shoulder. 

When he finishes, Kageyama looks up and over at Hinata, who is leaning on the counter with his elbows, trying to look less upset than he feels.

This time Kageyama is the one to initiate the hug. He skirts around the counter, and Hinata straightens just as he moves in close. It's briefer than the one before, but Kageyama still has to time to tilt his head down and whisper, 

“I’ll miss you.”

And then he’s turning towards the door, his eyes quickly averting from Hinata's, but Hinata doesn't miss the way his mouth turns down, and his eyebrows furrow into a complicated frown.

Hinata watches, helplessly, as Kageyama moves to leave. 

“Wait—! Kag—Tobio!” He says, a little desperately.

His torso is already mostly out the front door, and his hand pauses on the doorknob. 

He leans back inside somewhat slowly. The late afternoon sun falls across one half of his body, and Hinata can see little particles of dust drifting lazily around him, glowing. 

He takes the few steps across the kitchen to stand in front of his best friend, his breath catching as he looks up and into his eyes, which are alight with the sun, and looking just as desperate in turn. 

Hinata raises onto his tiptoes, raising his hand to gently cup Kageyama’s jaw. And then, carefully, moves forward to ghost his lips over Kageyama’s. 

Kageyama doesn't move at first, and Hinata pulls back just enough to assess his partner’s expression. His eyes are locked onto Hinata’s, but they are not startled. Instead, Kageyama is looking down at him, something incredibly soft and wondrous in his expression. And so Hinata gently presses forward, just the smallest bit, until their lips join together properly. 

Hinata’s eyes flutter closed, and then Kageyama’s hands are coming around to encircle him. He holds onto his waist, and they stay locked together for some immeasurable amount of time, in the threshold of his apartment, with warm, tropical sunlight streaming around them. 

Eventually, Hinata lowers himself off his toes, Kageyama's hands loosening only enough to accommodate the change in position. His eyes had also slid closed, and they open now. 

Hinata’s hands fall onto Kageyama’s chest. He takes a breath, slow and steadying.

“I’ll see you soon,” He says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> This is actually the first story I've ever completed, and I feel like a whole new world has opened up to me. 
> 
> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tomezeme) mostly chillin', but feel free to follow if you want some more hq content in your feed.
> 
> One more thing. I had art commissioned for this fic, which I am no less than in love with. It can be seen [here](https://twitter.com/myrseyy/status/1248757812215394305?s=20) <3


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